Death of a Doll Maker (15 page)

He was embarrassed. “And I am not. You haven’t forgiven me.”

“Perhaps I shall when I know you better.”

Boldly, he suggested, “A promise and an offer?”

She nodded, smiling.

He felt ridiculously flattered and excited. Since he did not trust himself to say anything else, he turned to his food. To his relief, nobody seemed to have noticed the flirtatious exchange. The conversation among the guests ranged from an upcoming festival to rumors of the discovery of gold in Osumi province. Akitada listened and asked a question about the gold, but no one seemed to know particulars.

Toward the end of the banquet, the mayor suddenly recalled Akitada’s earlier comment. “About this murder, Excellency,” he said. “No need to trouble yourself about it. The dead woman was just the wife of a doll maker. The husband did it. Okata has a confession.”

Akitada reflected that apparently the murders of women, especially if they were the wives of mere doll makers, were not considered important enough to disturb the peace of mind of the mayor or have an impact on the Hakata community. He became morose again, but nothing else of interest was said, and he was more relieved than disappointed when his beauteous companion and the other females took their leave. Some of the guests were already drunk and snatched at the hands and skirts of the departing women. The musicians packed up their instruments, and the mayor rose to thank him and the other guests for coming. Akitada expressed his own gratitude for the luxurious entertainment, and the others applauded.

And so the evening ended. Akitada walked down the wide stairs first, the mayor behind him.

Waiting at the bottom was a child, a little girl in a colorful silk gown and embroidered jacket, a miniature version of the beautiful Fragrant Orchid except that her hair was only shoulder-length. She looked almost exactly like the doll Akitada had bought for his daughter. For that matter, she was only slightly older than Yasuko but apparently already in the trade.

She made him a very deep bow and held up a folded note on scented paper dusted with flecks of gold. He took it, asking, “Is this for me? Who sent you, child?”

But she only smiled an enchanting smile and ran out of the restaurant. The mayor caught up and chortled. “Congratulations, Excellency. Our most famous beauty likes you. She rarely gives invitations.”

Akitada suppressed his embarrassment and left quickly.

Back at the tribunal, Tora awaited with eager questions about the food and the women at the banquet.

Akitada answered curtly, then said, “The doll maker has confessed to the murder, so your case is closed.”

“Maeda won’t have liked that,” Tora commented. “And I think he’s right. There was something else going on.”

“But you will not have time for it in the future. Your duties at the tribunal are waiting.”

Akitada did not open Fragrant Orchid’s letter until he was in his room and alone.

It was brief. The message, written in a somewhat awkward hand simply read, “Please come to me. I have something to tell you.”

He firmly resisted regret, tore up the scrap, and sat down to add a few lines to his letter to Tamako, describing the banquet and the foods, though not his companion.

13

DISAPPEARANCES

T
emptation can be a powerful force for change.

Akitada brooded for days about the way he had reacted to Fragrant Orchid. Her presence had distracted him from asking more questions about conditions in Hakata and the province; he had felt so strong a physical response to her that he was now filled with shame.

His letter to Tamako and the dolls were dispatched for home, along with letters from Tora and Saburo and other small gifts. They all missed their families. The difference for Akitada was that Tamako was in the last weeks of her pregnancy.

He threw himself into administrative work. Apart from dealing with the two homeless children, Tora and Saburo stayed at the tribunal. Tora was training his guards while Saburo saw to the smooth running of the household.

In Hakata, Mitsui had confessed and now awaited trial.

Akitada began the process of removing Captain Okata from office. This was by no means simple. The odd arrangement by which such appointments had been handled by the governor general’s office meant he had to make a case against Okata. He had to gather evidence and prove Okata was unfit for his position. This he hoped to achieve by posting notices in Hakata asking people to report police brutality or malfeasance to the provincial tribunal.

Okata responded with a formal protest to the vice governor general. He, in turn, asked for a written explanation from Akitada. Akitada replied that he hoped to improve law enforcement in the port city, an important first step to dealing with smuggling and treasonable contacts between China and their own country. A populace intimidated by its police was not likely to cooperate with it. Unpleasant though all of this was, a number of serious complaints had already been filed.

Saburo’s report about Hayashi’s activities was a disappointment. It had not revealed any illegalities. While a long meeting with Feng and the shrine priest Kuroda might be suggestive, it could also be perfectly harmless. He did not send Saburo back for another look at the guild master.

The only bright spot was that the attack on the two children had led to their finding a home. Tora had mentioned their plight to Sergeant Maeda, who had the bright idea to take them to Mrs. Kimura, the old lady who grew the tiny trees. Now the children’s birds and her miniature forest coexisted happily in her garden, and the children were company for her.

There was, however, also good news of another kind. A ship finally brought long-awaited letters from the capital. Akitada broke open his packet immediately, scanned the contents, and found Tamako’s thick sheaf of pages. She had done what he did, written a little every day about the events of the day, giving him news of the children and the household. She apologized that her news was so trivial, but Akitada devoured every line joyously. Most important was the fact that they were all well. He began to relax. The child would be born in its time, and Tamako would recover as she had before. She was healthy woman.

The two weeks after the banquet passed with only one puzzling piece of news. Among the paperwork sent to Akitada from the Governor General’s Office in Dazaifu was a brief note from Fujiwara Korenori to the effect that a strange report had reached his office.

It appeared the former governor had not been seen or heard of for over a month now. He had been expected to touch land in two provinces on his journey home. The ship with his possessions and retainers had arrived and left as scheduled, but there had been no sign of their master.

This was not Akitada’s business, but it troubled him. Something had happened to the man, and the peculiar way in which his departure had been handled, meant that no one in Kyushu had missed him. As far as was known, he had left Hakata, and presumably Kyushu, two weeks before Akitada had arrived. He had disappeared somewhere between Hakata and his scheduled first stop.

Akitada and Mori were checking tax reports in hopes of collecting delinquent taxes and shoring up the treasury when Tora walked into the office.

“Maeda sent for me, sir,” he said, nodding to Mori. “He says Mrs. Kuroki’s disappeared.”

“Who is Mrs. Kuroki?”

“She’s the Mitsuis’ neighbor across the street. It may have something to do with the case.”

“I thought the man had confessed and was going to trial.”

“Yes. The trial’s tomorrow. But I think he made a false confession.”

Akitada stared at Tora. “Because of beatings?”

“Maybe, though Maeda hasn’t allowed any more mistreatment. People do foolish things.”

“True, but you can hardly base an argument on this assertion. I hope this isn’t an excuse to spend all your time in Hakata.”

Tora was offended. “I haven’t started kidnapping women, if that’s what you’re implying, sir.”

Mori looked shocked at such impudence, but Akitada said only, “I think it will be best if you attend the trial. I’d like to know how they are handled in Hakata. Afterward you can see what Maeda is doing about the missing female. I hope he isn’t about to make a mistake. The paperwork is almost complete for dismissing Okata, and the vice governor general is not about to overlook irregularities.”

*

The Hakata court sessions were held in an annex to the jail. The courtroom was modest in size, but the murder of Mrs. Mitsui had attracted an interested crowd which spilled over into the courtyard outside.

Tora and Maeda pushed through and into the courtroom. Maeda usually attended the trials of his own arrests. Technically, Mitsui was Okata’s arrest, but Okata could not be bothered with token appearances.

The judge, an elderly man with a sparse beard and a tired expression, was already in his place on the dais. A scribe sat to one side, and four constables were lined up below and on either side of him. When the judge rapped his baton, two jailers brought in Mitsui. He was in chains, and they pushed him down in front of the judge. When the dazed-looking doll maker did not immediately bow to the judge, one of them kicked him forward making his face hit the floor.

Mitsui looked pitiful. The beating he had received had left his face badly discolored. At least they had given him a clean shirt and pants for his trial, and washed the blood off him. He looked at the judge, the constables, and the crowd pressing in all around him, and his face puckered up.

“Why does the prisoner’s face look like that?” demanded the judge.

“He resisted the police who arrested him and the guards in jail,” asserted one of his guards.

“Hah! Another one of those?” The judge shook his head. “You seem to have trouble controlling your prisoners.”

“Not me, your Honor.” The jailer grinned and snapped the short whip he carried in the air. The crowd laughed, and Mitsui shrank into himself.

The judge leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Mitsui. “You are the doll maker Mitsui, husband of the dead woman Mei?”

“Yes, your Honor,” Mitsui croaked.

“And you have confessed to killing her on the fifteenth day of this month?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Why did you do this?”

His hands being bound behind his back, Mitsui wiped his nose on the shoulder of his shirt. “I got home late from a delivery in Hakozaki. She called me names and cursed me for being late. She said I was no good and I made her work too hard and she knew someone who would treat her better.”

The crowd muttered, and the judge rapped his baton. “Go on. What happened next?”

“There was no food. I complained, but she laughed in my face and told me to do my own cooking. So I got out a knife to slice a radish. Then she showed me some gold coins. She said she got them from her lover and he would give her more. And then she said she was going to get her clothes and leave me that very night.”

More muttering from the crowd. Someone shouted, “The bitch deserved what she got.”

The baton rapped again.

When silence had been restored, the judge said, “So she left the kitchen. What did you do?”

“I was angry and followed her.”

“With the knife still in your hand?”

“Yes. She was upstairs throwing clothes into a large square of cloth. She had a new dress. A green silk dress. She held it up for me to see. ‘See, what nice things he gives me?’ she said. That’s when I went mad and went for her. She dropped the dress and backed away. I pushed her down on the bedding. She spat at me and called me names, and I lost it completely. I stabbed her and kept stabbing until she stopped moving. That’s all.”

The judge consulted some papers. “Hmm. It seems to fit the coroner’s report. The police never found the knife. Or the gold. What happened to those?”

“I threw the knife in the river and kept the gold.”

“Attacking your wife of many years, the mother of your children, so violently is a heinous act. How could you do such a thing?”

Mitsui looked down. “She was always a bad wife. It just got too much for me when she was gloating. I wanted her to stop.”

“You did not report your wife’s death until the next morning. And then you claimed you’d found her already dead. Why was that?”

“I thought I could get away with it.”

The judge nodded. “Yes. It certainly sounds like the truth. Very well. Since you have confessed freely to the brutal murder of your wife during a jealous rage, and since there is evidence that you have had prior fits of anger during which you hit her, I find you guilty of aggravated murder. You will serve out your remaining years at hard labor for the government in Tsushima.”

Mitsui cried out at this sentence, but the crowd applauded. The guards pushed the prisoner down again, then jerked him to his feet. They dragged him out between them, and the judge rapped his baton and declared the court session closed.

Outside Tora asked Maeda, “What did you make of it?”

“I expected it. He did confess before.”

“I still don’t like it. What if he was lying?”

Maeda sighed. “Then he must be either abysmally stupid or mad, as the case may be. We can’t be held responsible for people’s stupidity.”

They stopped for a bowl of noodles in the market, and then went on to the Kuroki house. Tora was curious about what could have happened to that luscious bit Yoko. He had ignored her open invitation so far, thinking piously of his sweet Hanae at home, but he was glad his master did not know about Yoko’s reputation.

Two constables lounged outside the house; they straightened up when they saw Maeda. Inside Yoko’s husband was sitting in the main room, looking distraught. He was a fat man with a large belly and was mopping his red face with a tissue held in one pudgy hand. He stared at them with swollen eyes. Maeda made the introductions.

“I don’t understand it,” Kuroki complained. “Such a thing has never happened. She wouldn’t just stay out all night. You must search for her, Sergeant.”

Maeda eyed him and looked around the room. “Perhaps your wife has left you,” he said bluntly.

“No,” squeaked the husband, waving his hands about. “No, she wouldn’t just leave me. She’s a devoted wife.”